


I'll Protect You

by whiteduck6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Castiel's POV, Homophobic John Winchester, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Misogyny, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-06 02:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteduck6/pseuds/whiteduck6
Summary: John Winchester has returned from the dead. Dean isn't behaving as Castiel would expect him to.





	I'll Protect You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gets a little heavy, so there's content warnings in the end notes. Please enjoy!

Sam was ecstatic that John Winchester had been revived from the dead. This didn’t surprise Castiel — he didn’t have much experience with human emotions, but he did know there was a strong attachment to parents or parental figures.

Dean’s reaction was surprising. 

As soon as John Winchester showed up at the door of the bunker, the second his feet crossed the heavily warded threshold, Dean stopped touching Castiel. They still slept in the same bed, of course, and they shared intimate touches in the privacy of their room, but outside of it, it was like they were strangers.

Castiel was sad. More for Dean than for himself — he needed a supporting figure in his life, someone stable. It seemed he was doing his damndest to push Castiel out of that position. 

He didn’t ask Dean about it, though. He understood the man valued his privacy, and he figured if it was a serious thing Dean would tell him. 

The first thing John Winchester said to the three of them was, “How’ya doing, Sammy?”

Sam enveloped his father in a tearful hug. Dean didn’t make a move. 

“Dean,” John said after Sam had released him. He nodded at his older son but didn’t make any motions to embrace him. 

“What’s wrong with your angel?” He said then, gesturing at Castiel’s broken wings.

They were ugly now, the feathers falling out all over the place, skinny and bony, and they didn’t produce oil in the right way so sometimes the feathers were dry and dull, the skin underneath cracking until it bled, and other times they were like touching an oil slick, and they got stains everywhere. 

Castiel tucked them in a little further. Dean kissed them every night, as they went to bed. Dean assured him that his wings were still beautiful, that they were still something to be proud of. 

Castiel didn’t like John Winchester already.

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” Sam said. It was a little strange that Dean didn’t immediately jump to Castiel’s defence, but Castiel supposed that if a long-dead family member came back to life, he would be speechless too. 

“They look pretty bad,” John said, reaching out to touch. 

Castiel recoiled his wing violently, his face twitching into a glare.

John brought his hand back, but gave Castiel a look he wasn’t fond of. It looked like disapproval magnified by a hundred. 

Was this what Dean and Sam had grown up with?

No, surely he was different around his children.

And so, life continued as normal for the four of them. 

Until John started to get more involved. 

He showed up at their kitchen table one day with a laptop and set it down on the table with a hard thunk, and Dean’s hand flinched out of Castiel’s under the table. 

Castiel looked over at him briefly but Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Found something interesting,” John said, moving the laptop so that everyone could see it. “Sounds like vampires — whole nest of ‘em. You boys interested?”

“Sounds good,” Sam said, turning to Dean and Castiel. “Dean? Cas?”

“You guys got this one,” Dean said, too quickly. “Besides, we don’t want to leave the bunker unguarded.”

Castiel refrained from pointing out that the three of them had left the bunker alone for weeks at a time, and the warding — as well as the industrial locks on every door and window in the place — had kept everything out.

John gave them a look that Castiel couldn’t quite read. 

“Your loss,” John said, “Sam, we should get ready. Don’t want to leave vampires to their own devices for too long.”

Castiel didn’t notice how tense Dean was until John and Sam left the bunker, and his shoulders slumped as he collapsed into the nearest chair. 

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked, crouching by the chair. He rested his hand over Dean’s hesitantly, but Dean laced their fingers together. 

“I’m just . . . stressed,” he said, dragging his free hand over his face. 

“Can I help?”

Dean smirked, an expression Castiel was familiar with. He stood up, pulling Castiel up with him. 

“Yeah,” he said, heading towards their bedroom, “I think I’ve got some ideas.”

—

After, when they were sweaty and sated, Dean’s head pillowed on Castiel’s chest, Castiel asked him again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean tensed up, drawing in a breath and not letting it out. Castiel stroked his hair, shifting their positions so he could look Dean in the eye. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, “if you’re really uncomfortable. But I want to help.”  
“I can deal with this,” Dean muttered, tucking his face a little further into the flat plane of Castiel’s pectoral. 

“Okay,” Castiel said, “tell me when you’re ready.”

They didn’t say anything else for a long time. 

—

The changes in Dean’s behaviour became a lot more obvious when John was away. 

Castiel quickly noticed that while John was away, as long as Castiel didn’t bring him up, Dean was almost like normal. The week that John and Sam were away was very obviously something Dean needed. The two of them barely did any actual work; spending most of the week watching old movies on the projector, with Dean wrapping himself around Castiel whenever he got a chance.

The moment John Winchester stepped through the door again, Dean’s hackles went up, his face hardened, and he was back to being quiet and jittery.

“How were the vampires, Sammy?” He asked, avoiding John’s eyes. 

Sam gave him a strange sort of look. “They were vampires,” he said. “They’re dead now. We brought you back some maple syrup.”

“What? Where were you?” Dean asked, taking the jar without question. It was a nice container, glass with some fancy designs etched into it. Castiel would wash it out and use it to hold holy oil later. 

“Vermont,” Sam said, “it was recommended to us by some of the locals. Anyway, I’m off. I need a shower and some decent coffee.” He strolled past Dean, leaving him and Castiel alone with John. Castiel was fairly sure he hadn’t been in a room alone with John since he moved into the bunker, and he was certain that was Dean’s doing. 

“I should put this away,” he said, “Cas, you want to, uh . . .”

“Yeah,” he said, getting the message. The look in John’s eyes unnerved him. It reminded him of Bartholomew.

As soon as they were out of sight of John, Dean threw one last glance back and took Castiel’s hand in his. Dean’s hand was shaking. Castiel didn’t comment on it. 

They put the maple syrup away, and Dean leaned against the pantry, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He checked his watch, then crossed his arms. 

“It’s almost six,” he muttered, “we should eat soon.”  
“I can make us something,” Castiel said, “we can eat in our room, or in the library, or the gun range . . .”  
Dean laughed weakly. “I’ll cook,” he said, “but thanks for the offer. Our room sounds good.”

Castiel stayed in the kitchen as Dean made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup from a can. “I had this when I was sick, as a kid,” he explained as he mixed the milk into the soup. “It was the only thing Sam knew how to cook for the longest time. It’s one of my favourite dinners, but Sam doesn’t like it that much anymore. It’s not very healthy, and you know how he is about that kind of stuff.”

“It smells good,” Castiel said, hoping that was the right response. Dean laughed, a little more naturally this time. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if it tastes like anything other than molecules to you.”

Castiel carried the tray with their dinner to their room, thankfully not running into anyone on the way. Castiel understood that meals were generally a social activity, and that eating one in private wouldn’t be acceptable. He wouldn’t have enjoyed explaining that one. 

Dean set up a movie on his laptop, Mad Max, and they watched it as they ate. It was interesting enough, but a lot of the mechanic talk went right over Castiel’s head. He understood why Dean liked it, though. 

After they were done eating, Dean migrated into Castiel’s arms over the course of the movie. By the time Max was vowing to avenge his wife and son, Dean was fully encased in Castiel’s arms, and seemed to be falling asleep.

Castiel shut the laptop as quietly as he could and set it on the bedside table. He shuffled Dean under the blankets, briefly separating from him to take off his coat, shirt, and pants. When he slipped back under the sheets, Dean grabbed him like he was a lifeline, squeezing them together with alarming force for someone who was asleep.

Castiel didn’t sleep, but he watched Dean. 

For several hours, Dean slept peacefully. He started to dream at about four in the morning — that was unusual. Ever since Castiel and Dean had become intimate, Dean’s dreams had mostly stopped. Castiel carefully watched his eyes flickering around under his closed eyelids. 

Dean’s grip on Castiel, which had loosened in the night, suddenly turned into a death grip again as Dean’s breathing sped up. His face crumpled into something scared, and Castiel nudged him gently.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “Dean, wake up.”

Dean was whimpering now, and Castiel’s chest ached. He nudged Dean a little more forcefully, but the other man seemed to be deeply asleep. 

Castiel pressed his fingers against Dean’s forehead and woke him with his grace.

Dean sat straight up in bed, his skin shiny with sweat, his breaths quick and shallow, and very obviously moving away from Castiel.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked, scooting a little away from Dean. He knew touch wasn’t always Dean’s friend after a nightmare, and their bed was small, made for one person. 

Dean didn’t respond for a few minutes, but his breathing slowed, and he stopped shaking. “I’m fine,” he finally rasped.

“What did you dream about?” Castiel asked. Dean had only opened up about his nightmares several months after they had become lovers, and they were always about Hell. Castiel imagined this one was much the same, although it was surprising that it would come after such a long period of peace.

“Nothin’,” Dean muttered, “I’m fine.”

That set off alarms for Castiel.

It must have been a new subject. Otherwise, Dean wouldn’t avoid talking about it. And he hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time. What had changed recently?

“Was it about your father?” Castiel asked. Dean froze, just for a second, but long enough.

“No,” he said, the lie flawless. “I’m going back to sleep. ‘Night.”

He laid down again, not as close to Castiel as before. 

Castiel waited until he was asleep, then wrapped his arms around his human. His heart ached for him. 

What was he going to do?

—

The next morning, Dean was very quiet. 

He barely spoke as they got ready, and picked at his breakfast instead of eating it. Castiel didn’t have anything — John had asked Sam why they made food for the guy who didn’t ned to eat, and Sam had stopped feeding Castiel — so it would look strange if he claimed hunger to take some of the pressure off Dean.

Dean finally got up, scraping his barely-touched plate into the garbage. He took his seat at the table again, across from John, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Dean—“ John started.

“Sammy,” Dean interrupted. Something flashed in John’s eyes that made Castiel want to shrink into himself. “I was wondering about something. Um, I found some books on—on this type of ghost, and I was wondering if you knew any more about them.”

“Sure,” Sam said, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. He followed Dean out of the room, and Castiel got up as well, making some excuse about keeping his Enochian sharp as he felt John Winchester’s eyes on his broken wings. He didn’t need to practice it. He never would.

But John Winchester didn’t need to know that. 

When Sam entered the library, he was alone.

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, he just needed to stop by your room to grab something,” he said. Castiel nodded and took off to their room. He would have preferred to fly, but his clipped wings made that impossible. He gradually picked up the pace until he was flat-out running, praying he wouldn’t run into John Winchester in the halls. 

He knocked on the door softly, opening it when he didn’t hear anything. He heard gentle, hiccuping sobs, so quiet he wouldn’t have heard them if he was human. He didn’t see anything until he shut the door behind him, seeing Dean cramming his body behind the door so he couldn’t be seen when the door opened. 

“Dean! Dean,” Castiel said, crouching down to look him in the face. Dean’s hand was over his mouth, muffling any terrified sounds he might have made. He was sobbing and didn’t seem to be able to catch his breath.

“Dean, it’s okay, but you need to breathe,” Castiel said, gently prying Dean’s hand from his mouth. Dean keened, a terrible, pained noise, and Castiel wrapped his arms around the other man. Dean struggled, as he usually did, but Castiel held him tightly. 

“Stop it, stop it,” Dean wheezed, sucking jagged breaths in between words, “h-he’ll see, he’ll see you.”  
“Who?” Castiel loosened his grip a little, tucking Dean’s head under his chin. 

“W-who the fuck do you think?” Dean gasped. His teeth had started to chatter. Castiel was familiar enough with the pattern of his panic attacks that he knew that meant Dean was calming down. 

“Your father?” Castiel asked quietly. Dean tensed in his arms at the mere mention of the man. Castiel felt a single, jerky nod.

“Do you want me to deal with him?” Castiel asked. He didn’t like smiting people usually, but he was Dean’s protector. He would do whatever Dean asked of him. 

“No, no,” Dean muttered. He was still shaking, but he seemed to have caught his breath. “Sammy—Sammy doesn’t know. He never—never saw anything. And it needs to stay that way. Don’t—don’t let him know.”

“I need to help you, Dean,” Castiel said. “What can I do?”

“Just . . .” Dean sucked in a wavering breath through his teeth. “Keep me the fuck away from him.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said, pressing his lips to the crown of Dean’s head. “Anything.”

They didn’t leave their room for the rest of the night. If Castiel put a silencing charm on the door so that no one could bother them, that was no one’s business but his own. 

—

Dean didn’t have any nightmares that night. Castiel breathed out a sigh of relief when Dean’s 7:00 AM alarm went off with no interruptions. 

Dean stretched up against Castiel, pressing his body against Castiel’s for a brief moment before faltering, just for a moment. 

“I’ll watch over you,” Castiel murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

Dean got dressed as slowly as possible, only dragging himself out the door when his stomach growled loudly.

“Amazing I’m hungry,” Dean muttered, “I’ve been nauseous since they came back.”

“I’ll make you something,” Castiel said, not touching Dean, but extending phantom fingers to lace between Dean’s with his grace. 

“Jesus,” Dean said, jumping a little and shaking his hand around. “What was that?”

“My grace,” Castiel said, “Think of it as extending my vessel. I don’t have to . . .”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean said, relaxing his fingers beside his leg again. Castiel extended his grace again, slipping a phantom hand against Dean’s.

When they entered the kitchen, John Winchester was nowhere to be seen. Sam was leaning against the counter, holding a lettuce wrap in one hand and his phone in the other. 

“What is that?” Dean asked, gesturing to the wrap.

“It’s a lettuce wrap,” Sam said, smirking a little. “It’s healthy, so I wouldn’t expect you to recognize it.”

“Screw you.”

Castiel got out their waffle ingredients. Dean deserved it.

“Cas is making breakfast?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. “Is that wise?”

“It’ll be fine, Sammy,” Dean said, shoving his brother lightly. Castiel’s chest lightened at the easy banter that went on between them. It was a sign that Dean was feeling normal. 

Castiel mixed the ingredients together as Dean and Sam chatted. Castiel listened idly, not really paying attention to words but more to tone. It stayed light and cheery while Castiel cooked the waffles, but Dean wasn’t as affectionate as he normally was. Castiel eagerly awaited the day when John Winchester would move on.

“Here, taste this,” Castiel said, peeling a little bit of waffle off the edge of the iron. Dean took it and ate it, but smirked at Castiel as he tasted it.

“It’s good,” he said, “but I ate some of the batter already.”

Castiel must have given him a strange face, because he burst out laughing. Even Sam chuckled a little.

“It had raw eggs, Dean!” Castiel scolded, trying not to let the current waffle burn. “Humans are very delicate. It could kill you!”

“It’s really not that big a deal, Cas,” Sam snickered. Dean was still catching his breath. 

“Dude, if you knew how much raw cookie dough I’d eaten over my life, all your hair would fall out from the stress.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Castiel said. “Dean, you’re not to eat any more raw eggs. I don’t care what the circumstances are. You are to cook any products with eggs in them before you eat them.”

“What are you, my—“ Dean started, then stopped short. 

_What are you, my dad?_

“I just worry about you,” Castiel said quietly, stretching up to press a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean flinched away at the last second, and Castiel backed off. He tried not to feel too hurt. 

It wasn’t him.

He plated the waffles, the air in the room growing heavier with each passing second of silence. 

They stayed silent until Dean took a bite of the waffles, fully dressed with butter, whipped cream, and Sam’s Vermont maple syrup.

“These are actually really good,” Dean said through a mouth full of waffle. “I really like them.”

“I’m glad,” Castiel said, smiling at him. He didn’t make a move to touch Dean, as he normally would have.

Dean needed to not have touch outside of their room right now. That was fine. Castiel understood.

It didn’t mean it hurt Castiel’s heart any less to see the man he loved suffering like this.

He knew how much loving touch meant to Dean. After Dean had finally come to terms with his need for touch, they had been attached at the hip — quite literally — for several days afterwards. 

It had taken months of gentle reassurances to convince Dean to let down some of his walls around them.

And now John Winchester seemed hell-bent on putting them back up. 

Dean washed the dishes while Castiel took the opportunity to stretch his wings. He hadn’t had much chance since John came back — he didn’t want the man to mock them any more than he already had — and he stretched them across the kitchen until they almost brushed against both walls, some downy plumage drifting to the ground as he opened them up.

“They haven’t healed?” Sam asked. There was a familiar crease between his eyebrows. 

“They won’t heal,” Castiel said, shaking them a little. More feathers fell out. “They were damaged by the man who was God, at the time. They can only be repaired by God.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Sam said, finishing off his lettuce wrap and wiping his hands on his jeans. “But, hey, at least they still look pretty cool.”

Castiel eyed him. “You think?”

“Yeah, man,” Sam said, “you look like one of those feral cats that the others know not to mess with. It makes you look tough.”

As Dean passed him, he stroked a hand across the top of Castiel’s left wing. “They’re not broken,” he murmured, too quietly for Sam to hear. “They’re perfect.”

—

That night, Sam insisted on having a movie night in the bunker. 

“Dad, you’ve been dead for ten years. You’ve missed out on some good movies. You have to start somewhere.”  
“Sounds good to me,” John had said, shrugging and looking around the room. “As long as there’s not a case. What were you thinking?” 

“Dean, you liked _The Great Gastby_ , right?”

John’s head swivelled around to stare at Dean. The colour had drained out of his face and he looked to be at a loss for words. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam,” Dean said, forcing out a tight laugh. “That’s a chick’s movie.”

Castiel knew this was a lie. He knew because Dean had told him that Sam had read it for school when they were kids, and made Dean read it, and Dean fell in love with it. Whenever they were in a town with a movie theatre when it was playing, he dragged the three of them to a showing. 

“No, you definitely liked it,” Sam said, looking a little confused now. “I mean, you made us watch it, like, a hundred times.”

“That so, Dean?” John asked, his voice terrifyingly neutral. 

The tension in the room felt like a tendon about to snap. 

“If I didn’t know better, boy,” John said, finally looking away from Dean. “I’d say you were some kind of queer.”

Dean laughed sharply, balled his hands into fists and announced that he was going to make some popcorn. He disappeared for a few moments, leaving Castiel alone with John Winchester staring at his wings while Sam set up the DVD player.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean called. There was an almost imperceptible shake to his voice. “Can you help me grab the popcorn? Your arms are longer than mine.”

Castiel hurried into the kitchen to find Dean leaning against the sink, facing away from him. Castiel shut and locked the door with his grace and wrapped his arms around Dean. 

Dean didn’t say anything for several minutes. He finally swallowed heavily and said that he was fine. When he turned to face Castiel, his eyes were glassy and red. 

“What does it mean?” Castiel asked quietly, because he had to know. 

“What does what mean?” Dean responded, his voice thick. 

“Queer. What’s a queer?” 

Dean tensed under Castiel’s embrace. “Don’t say that, Cas,” he muttered, and Castiel felt hot tears staining his shirt, “It’s not something that should be said.”

Castiel didn’t push for any further explanation. 

—

They never ended up watching the movie. Dean ran his face under the cold water of the industrial faucet until he calmed down again, then he said he was feeling sick and was going to bed early. John muttered something that even Castiel couldn’t hear, but had Sam tensing uncomfortably. 

Castiel led Dean back to their room, covering him with what was left of his wings protectively. It barely shielded his head, but it would have to be enough.

The moment Castiel had shut and locked the door behind them, Dean pressed a kiss to the underside of Castiel’s jaw. Castiel stroked Dean’s hair, waiting until he was done to nip along his human’s neck, peeling off his flannel with his free hand.

Castiel gently guided Dean back to their bed until Dean’s calves hit the soft mattress, guiding him down to it but not pushing. Dean toed his shoes off and shuffled further onto the bed until his back was against the headboard. Castiel followed suit, wrapping his wings around Dean to form walls as he slipped his tongue into Dean’s mouth.

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel, massaging the base of his wing with one hand while he undid Castiel’s tie with another. Castiel kept kissing him, along his mouth, his neck, his collarbone, anywhere he could reach. He peppered him with kisses on his freckles, trying to get a kiss on each one. 

Dean tossed Castiel’s tie to the side and undid his shirt, smoothing his palms against the flat plane of Castiel’s abdomen. Castiel arched into the touch, pressing his chest right against Dean’s as he cupped Dean’s face and stared at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. 

“I love you,” Dean whispered, his eyes darting between Castiel’s. 

“I love you, too,” Castiel breathed, moving to hike Dean’s shirt over his head. 

Dean nearly threw Castiel across the room when someone pounded on their door. Dean shoved his feet back into his shoes and pushed Castiel behind the door, where he had been hiding when he had the panic attack. 

“Don’t let him see you,” Dean breathed, squeezing Castiel’s hand. 

“Dean Winchester!” John bellowed from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there! Get out here right now!”

“It’s not safe, don’t do it,” Castiel said, not letting Dean tug their hands apart. 

“I’ll just be a minute,” Dean said, peeling Castiel’s fingers off his. Castiel folded his wings up as tight as possible and started buttoning up his shirt as Dean opened the door and stepped outside. 

There was an eerie, blank silence for a handful of seconds. Castiel had just managed to get his shirt done up when he heard something shatter. 

He threw open the door to see, in order:

1\. The love of his life crouched on the floor, his eyes dark with terror, with a cut oozing blood down his forehead.  
2\. The love of his life’s father, looming above Dean with an expression Castiel had only ever seen directed at demons.   
3\. The remains of a vase that had been living on a table outside their room scattered on the floor, shards creating a minefield for anyone wanting to move. 

Castiel felt his grace bubble over. He could tell without looking his eyes were glowing. 

“Cas, wait!” Dean shouted, stumbling to his feet. John Winchester — Castiel despised his name, he would make sure all traces of him and his presence were removed from the bunker — backhanded Dean hard enough to send him to the ground again. Dean crouched on the ground and didn’t get up.

“What have you done,” Castiel growled, feeling his wings unfurl and flap a few times. If they were healed, it would have been intimidating. As it was, it was pitiful.

“None of your damn business,” John snapped, “I can parent how I choose.”

“No,” Castiel snarled, striding forward and pressing a hand to John Winchester’s brow. “You can’t.”

A blinding glow filled the room, and when it faded, John had disappeared.

—

Sam barrelled down the hall a few seconds later. “Dean?” He gasped, “Are you okay?”

Dean shrunk away from Sam’s hand. “I’m fine,” he whispered, dragging the back of his hand across the cut on his scalp. “I’m fine.”

“Cas? What happened?” Sam asked, taking in the destruction. “Where’s my dad?”  
“I vaporized him,” Castiel said simply.

“I—“ Sam seemed at a loss for words, while the tension drained out of Dean’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, you did _what_? You _killed_ him? Cas, you can’t—you—I can’t—“

Dean staggered to his feet, managing to stay on them this time, and threw his arms around Castiel as his heart beat hard enough for Castiel to feel it.

“Thank you,” he breathed, his breaths taking on a shuddering quality. Castiel wrapped his arms around his human, gently rocking on the balls of his feet even as Sam struggled for words. 

“Do you care to explain why you did that?” Sam finally said. Thankfully, Dean had calmed down some, and the cut on his head seemed to have slowed down its bleeding. A nasty bruise was developing across his cheekbone, but it wasn’t anything Castiel couldn’t heal. 

“Your father was a danger,” Castiel said, trying to keep the emotions that threatened to overflow out of his voice. “So I stopped him. It’s what you do; why is it any different for me?”

“My dad wasn’t a danger,” Sam said, “And I’d really like to not kill you today, so you’re going to have to give a little bit of a better explanation than that.”

“I-Is he in the air?” Dean whispered against Castiel’s neck. “Am I . . . breathing him?”

“No,” Castiel murmured, “he ceased to exist. Nothing of him remains in this universe anymore.”

“Still waiting on an explanation, Cas!” Sam barked. 

“Like I said—“ Castiel started, but Dean interrupted him by pulling out of his arms and turning to Sam. 

“He was a monster, Sammy,” Dean said flatly. “Why the hell do you think I had nothing to say when he came back?”

Dean looked at the cut on Dean’s head, the shattered remains of the vase on the floor, and back at Dean. He paled as he started to put it together. 

“He wouldn’t,” Sam said, his eyes darting around frantically now, “he wouldn’t. He was a good parent. He was good to us.”  
Dean didn’t say anything. He pursed his lips. 

Castiel pressed a hand to the oozing cut on his scalp, healing it with his grace. He cupped Dean’s cheek in his hand and healed the bruise there, too. 

“How did I . . . miss that?” Sam muttered. “Dean, did he—did he hit you?”

“Seems that way,” Dean muttered, looking around at the destruction. 

“I—I never—I should have done something—“

“There was nothing you could have done, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice growing heavy with tears. 

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, and the two embraced as Sam chattered frantic apologies for every time he’d accidentally looked the other way. 

“You should have told me,” Sam finally said, pulling away so he could look Dean in the eye. Castiel started picking up the shards of vase. He and Dean had found it in an abandoned house, and Castiel had given it to Dean for his birthday that year. 

He wondered if he could maybe glue it back together. 

It would never be the same, even if he fixed it.

“I wouldn’t have told you,” Dean said, “because then he would have started on you, too. You said he was a good dad, right? Hold onto that. That’s what I was protecting, okay?”

“You shouldn’t have had to protect me,” Sam said, “especially not from him.”  
“It’s done now, Sammy,” Dean muttered, glancing back at Castiel. “Nothing we can do to change that. I just . . .”

“Okay,” Sam said, releasing his brother fully. “I’ll go get the broom.”

As soon as he was out of human earshot, Castiel turned to Dean. 

“I’m sorry that happened,” Castiel said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”  
“It wasn’t so bad, this time,” Dean shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “And, hey, you were here to heal me.”

“I’m here to protect you, Dean,” Castiel said, “It’s my job.”

“Listen,” Dean said, “Like I said to Sam, we can’t change what happened. But I was pretty much over it before he showed up here again. I’ll be fine. Just give it a little time.”

“Please, tell me if there’s anything I can do to help,” Castiel said, cupping Dean’s face in his hands so Dean would look him in the eye. “Anything. I would do anything for you, Dean.”

Dean smiled, and it was a little wobbly, but it was there. “Anything, huh? I’m going to take advantage of that.”

Castiel smiled, and kissed Dean softly. It would be a long process, but Castiel knew they would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> CW for: abusive behaviours, two uses of the word queer (one is as a slur, one is by Castiel when he's asking what it means) some light swearing, and misogyny. If I've missed anything, please tell me and I'll mark it right away!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I love constructive criticism so feel free to leave it!


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